Memory is an interesting topic isn’t it. We all have memories, whether they are scraps of sounds, smells and emotion, or full on movie scenes playing in our heads.
This the second post in a 52 week blog challenge I have, somewhat rashly, signed up for.
My track record with regular blogging is rather hit and miss 😛
I’ve written about memories in an earlier post Overcoming the pain of lost memories
The post was triggered when my husband and I delightedly welcomed old friends from France into our home. The visit was very welcome, but it also brought home two things:
- how many memories I’ve lost since illness scarred my brain, and
- how hard it is to trawl through my brain trying to mesh together any memory pieces that I can recall.
I remember the past piecemeal. Somethings I can see quite clearly. Other times, I have no recollection at all – even though my husband can remember the event in considerable detail. Oftentimes though, my memory is a piece of something. A walk along the beach near St Tropez; a distinctive hotel room with exposed, ancient oak beams; the sound of cowbells in a Swiss flower-filled field; the taste of freshly made crepes with chestnut sauce; the joy of seeing Mont St Michel for the first time; emotion that filled my soul so much I can still find it today.
Which brings me back to my earliest memory …
It’s really hard to know what I can actually remember, and what I think I remember from the pile of photographs my father took of me – his first child.
I do remember my first dog.
Smokey was technically my mom’s dog. But I loved him, and he loved me. He used to sit in my cot and watch over me if mom had to pop to the shop and leave me home alone.
He followed me around the garden as I tried to plant seeds and pull weeds. Not necessarily getting either right 😀
I remember his silky fur and his tattered ear from a dog fight when he was a pup. I remember his little licks against my skin and the smell of his wet fur after a bath.
The day he died is seared into my brain. He died on the garden path, in one of his favourite spots, lying in the sun beside the old shed. My mother cried inconsolable tears. No-one noticed me slumped on a still swing. It was sunny and I think I was in first year of school, I vaguely remember the coarse fabric of my school uniform against my legs. I can’t tell you any other thing about it, but the pain of his passing is with me forever. It took a long time for the memory of his love and joyous company to sing as loud as that pain. But it did, and I’ve been a dog lover and happy fur-baby mom ever since.
It might not be my first memory, but it’s certainly the strongest memory from my early childhood. I look forward to hearing yours 🙂
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